• The tower stands before him now
    Its peak is ever calling
    Dulcet tones of promise
    Synchronize his endless longing
    The swansong of a rose is all
    That keeps him satisfied
    On leather skin his thoughts condense
    A drip upon the vine
    The acrid stench of turpentine
    Flows strong within the vein
    As ever on he strives to climb
    To victory in vain
    Alone our hero does begin
    In solitude he strives
    Regardless of the sacrifice
    The loss of treasured lives
    His fallen comrades are the key
    To sanctify his shame
    Yet still he struggles, ever on
    For pride, his one true bane.